ECLOGUE THE THIRD.

ABRA; OR,

THE GEORGIAN SULTANA.

SCENE, A Forest.

TIME, The Evening.

IN Georgia's Land, where Tefflis' Tow'rs are seen, In distant View along the level Green,

While Ev'ning Dews enrich the glitt'ring Glade,
And the tall Forests cast a longer Shade,
Amidst the Maids of Zagen's peaceful Grove,
Emyra sung the pleasing Cares of Love.

Of Abra first began the tender Strain,
Who led her Youth, with Flocks upon the Plain:
At Morn she came those willing Flocks to lead,
Where Lillies rear them in the wat'ry Mead;
From early Dawn the live-long Hours she told,
"Till late at silent Eve she penn'd the Fold.
Deep in the Grove beneath the secret Shade,
A various Wreath of od'rous Flow'rs she made:
*Gay-motley'd Pinks and sweet Junquils she chose,
The Violet-blue, that on the Moss-bank grows;
All-sweet to Sense, the flaunting Rose was there;
The finish'd Chaplet well-adorn'd her Hair.

Great Abbas chanc'd that fated Morn to stray, By Love conducted from the Chace away;

*That these Flowers are found in very great Abundance in some of the Provinces of Persia; see the Modern History of the ingenious Mr. Salmon.

Among the vocal Vales he heard her Song,
And sought the Vales and echoing Groves among;
At length he found, and woo'd the rural Maid;
She knew the Monarch, and with Fear obey'd.
Be ev'ry Youth like Royal Abbas mov'd,
And ev'ry Georgian Maid like Abra lov'd.

The Royal Lover bore her from the Plain,
Yet still her Crook and bleating Flock remain:
Oft as she went, she backward turn'd her View,
And bad that Crook, and bleating Flock Adieu.
Fair happy Maid! to other Scenes remove,
To richer Scenes of golden Pow'r and Love!
Go leave the simple Pipe, and Shepherd's Strain;
With Love delight thee, and with Abbas reign!
Be ev'ry Youth, &c.

Yet midst the Blaze of Courts she fix'd her Love, On the cool Fountain, or the shady Grove; Still with the Shepherd's Innocence her Mind To the sweet Vale, and flow'ry Mead inclin'd, And oft as Spring renew'd the Plains with Flow'rs, Breath'd his soft Gales, and led the fragrant Hours, With sure Return she sought the sylvan Scene, The breezy Mountains, and the forests Green. Her Maids around her mov'd, a duteous Band! Each bore a Crook all-rural in her Hand: Some simple Lay, of Flocks and Herds they sung, With Joy the Mountain, and the Forest rung. Be ev'ry Youth, &c.

And oft the Royal Lover left the Care, And Thorns of State, attendant on the Fair; Oft to the Shades and low-roof'd Cots retir'd, Or sought the Vale where first his Heart was fir'd; A Russet Mantle, like a Swain, he wore, And thought of Crowns and busy Courts no more. Be ev'ry Youth, &c.

Blest was the Life, that Royal Abbas led: Sweet was his Love, and innocent his Bed. What if in Wealth the noble Maid excel; The simple Shepherd Girl can love as well. Let those who rule on Persia's jewell'd Throne, Be fam❜d for Love, and gentlest Love alone. Or wreath, like Abbas, full of fair Renown, The Lover's Myrtle, with the Warrior's Crown. Oh happy Days! the Maids around her say, Oh haste, profuse of Blessings, haste away! Be ev'ry Youth, like Royal Abbas, moved; And ev'ry Georgian Maid, like Abra, lov'd.

THE END OF THE THIRD ECLOGUE

ECLOGUE THE FOURTH.

AGIB AND SECANDER;

OR, THE FUGITIVES.

SCENE, A Mountain in Circassia.

TIME, Midnight.

IN fair Circassia, where, to Love inclin'd, Each Swain was blest, for ev'ry Maid was kind! At that still Hour, when awful Midnight reigns, And none, but Wretches, haunt the twilight Plains; What Time the Moon had hung her Lamp on high, And past in Radiance thro' the cloudless Sky; Sad o'er the Dews, two Brother Shepherds fled, Where wild'ring Fear and desp'rate Sorrow led. Fast as they prest their Flight, behind them lay Wide ravag'd Plains, and Valleys stole away. Along the Mountain's bending Sides they ran, Till faint and weak Secander thus began.

SECANDER.

O stay thee, Agib, for my Feet deny,
No longer friendly to my Life, to fly.
Friend of my Heart, O turn thee and survey,
Trace our sad Flight thro' all its length of Way!
And first review that long-extended Plain,
And yon wide Groves, already past with Pain!
Yon ragged Cliff, whose dang'rous Path we try'd,
And last this lofty Mountain's weary Side!

AGIB.

Weak as thou art, yet hapless must thou know
The Toils of Flight, or some severer Woe!
Still as I haste, the Tartar shouts behind,
And Shrieks and Sorrows load the sad'ning Wind:
In rage of Heart, with Ruin in his Hand,

He blasts our Harvests, and deforms our Land.
Yon Citron Grove, whence first in Fear we came,
Droops its fair Honours to the conqu'ring Flame :
Far fly the Swains, like us, in deep Despair,
And leave to ruffian Bands their fleecy Care.

SECANDER.

Unhappy Land, whose Blessings tempt the Sword, In vain, unheard, thou call'st thy Persian Lord! In vain, thou court'st him, helpless to thine Aid, To shield the Shepherd, and protect the Maid, Far off in thoughtless Indolence resign'd,

Soft Dreams of Love and Pleasure sooth his Mind: 'Midst fair Sultanas lost in idle Joy,

No Wars alarm him, and no Fears annoy.

AGIB.

Yet these green Hills, in Summer's sultry Heat, Have lent the Monarch oft a cool Retreat, Sweet to the Sight is Zabran's flow'ry Plain, And once by Maids and Shepherds lov'd in vain! No more the Virgins shall delight to rove, By Sargis' Banks or Irwan's shady Grove: On Tarkie's Mountain catch the cooling Gale, Or breathe the Sweets of Aly's flow'ry Vale: Fair Scenes! but ah no more with Peace possest, With Ease alluring, and with Plenty blest. No more the Shepherds whit'ning Seats appear, Nor the kind Products of a bounteous Year;